


hug me before we're gone (and kiss me while we're going)

by BreadAndDough



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Execution, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad Ending, Schlatt is a Dictator, Sorry Not Sorry, author doesn't know how to tag, no beta we die like george in manhunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadAndDough/pseuds/BreadAndDough
Summary: A broken Treaty and a blown up Manburg- the perfect recipe for an angry Schlatt.Or maybe a bit too angry, because now Dream and George stand against stacks of TNT.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 126





	hug me before we're gone (and kiss me while we're going)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure you all know the deal, but as always:
> 
> **If either Dream or George ever say they are uncomfortable with people writing fanfiction about them, this will be swiftly deleted.**

The TNT has already been set up. All that’s left to wait for is the explosion.

It’s not like there’s anything Dream can do about it. At least, not now that him and George are trapped between the obsidian walls of a long fallen city. It may come as a surprise -it sure as hell did to George- but even the “all great Dream” can’t do much with an empty inventory and four layers worth of the world’s hardest substance trapping them in. Everything was taken from him, and promptly burned by Schlatt as a means to prevent his escape. As for the walls, they weren’t even there five days ago. 

Schlatt must’ve been planning this that entire time. 

And look, Dream _did_ betray the peace treaty, so it’s only fair that he be punished for it -even if the punishment is death. He’d let his anger get the best of him, and now he’s paying the price. It’s kind of fitting that Dream’s dying by the same substance that got him into this mess. He firmly believes that he had this coming.

But George? George doesn’t deserve any of it.

Dream has always felt like he was on a staircase with missing steps, life constantly pushing him into the holes and gaps with twisted ankles. Every so often, he’d be able to overcome the pain and simply jump to stable footing. He’d place a hand on the banister, gently leading himself down. But with every light, calm step, came the harshness and speed of reality creeping closer behind him. Not falling to his death was all Dream could ever manage when the four stair jumps came back to get him.

Until he met George.

George was always there to help him. He’d show Dream new paths- ways he’d never had time to stop and consider before. And when Dream tripped, or fell down trying to walk over the steps, George would be there to calm him; tell him it’s okay, and that no direction in life is without mistakes. 

But now, Schlatt is burning what’s left of his little staircase to the ground, and there’s _nothing_ he can do about it. There’s no jumping over the gaps, there’s no holding on to the banister, and there’s no way out that was previously unseen. Until Schlatt presses that button, there’s nothing but endless falling into the void.

“Dream?” a voice from beside him asks softly. The way George squeezes Dream’s hand slightly brings him out of the spiraling thoughts, reminding him to stay in the moment -the few he has left. George looks like he’s about to say something more, before thinking better of it and simply pulling Dream in for the tightest hug he’s ever had.

He politely doesn’t mention the wetness of the fabric on his shoulder, so long as George doesn’t mention the sound of sniveling. 

A few moments go by before Schlatt’s acidic voice booms through speakers, and echoes through former-Manburg’s walls. As for where the speakers are, nobody’s ever been able to find out. “Ya know, I think a show as great as this one really deserves a snack to go with it, don’t you think gentlemen? Fundy, why don’t you head down to the farm and cook us up some nice food, yeah? We can even sell some top tier goods to the crowd we have goin’ down there.”

_“Yes, Schlatt,”_ Fundy replies from the background. 

“Fundy..” a threatening tone. “Now, what did we talk about?”

_“Sorry sir. I meant to say yes, Mr. President,”_ Fundy’s voice sounds empty and dead -as if he’s been falling into the same void for years now. His pain makes Dream feel a bit better, as sadistic as it may sound, because it means that at least _someone_ else felt bad about this outcome.

“Perfect! Alright, I’d say the two traitors had a bit more time to think about what they’ve done. Maybe they can find a corner somewhere, and stare into space until we’re ready,” an audible clap of his hands comes after that, _proud bastard._ “Y’know, it’d be pretty funny if we threw Niki in there last second, wouldn’t it -Oh shit, is this thing still on?”

With that, the air goes back to being empty. Soulless. Soon-to-be filled with noises one would only hear during war and before death. Perhaps this is both.

George pulls back from Dream’s arms, making him feel cold again. 

They walk side-by-side, hand-in-hand, right down the path of wooden planks. Dream can still remember gathering the wood it took to make these walkways; hours of chopping down trees and crafting them into more manageable planks, days worth of putting the paths together, connecting each and every corner of the world they had all made. And for what? To see the very same wood rotting under his own two feet? To watch his friends’ hard work be blown up out of some petty show of power?

To die, right next to the one he cares for most?

Eventually, they stop at a bench in the middle of the wreckage. Dream’s never seen it before, so it must’ve been built recently. Not days ago, when he was caught setting up the now replaced explosives, nor hours ago, when George was caught trying to steal Dream’s gear back.

The way the birch planks are crafted almost perfectly tells him that Eret made it, but if the signs dedicating the bench to those lost to Schlatt are anything to go by, Niki must’ve helped as well. She’s always had the best handwriting out of everyone -even Wilbur.

_In loving memory of those_

_lost to us._

_Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, Karl,_

_Quackity._

_May you rest in peace._

The two obviously didn’t expect it to become grounds for another two deaths.

With resigned sighs, the two sit down in front of it, rather than on it. Afterall, George helped aid in two of the executions, and Dream unknowingly provided the weapons. It’s the least they can do to respect the sign. 

They’re as close to each other as possible; green arms are around George’s shoulders, while his own are circling the other’s waist. Either seconds or minutes later, George finally speaks, “...Do you really think he’ll blow this place up?” 

“Why wouldn’t he?” The reply is immediate. George isn’t sure if that’s bad or good.

“Well.. he _did_ help build this whole place, didn’t he?”

Maybe it’s cynical of Dream to huff out a laugh at that. The thought of that goddamn _dictator_ actually giving a shit about the country is a joke to him, nothing more than the assumption that Schlatt feels remorse. To think that he's ever used his own two hands to do _anything_ in this wretched place, rather than ordering someone else to do it for him -what bullshit.

Call it intuition, or call it fucking obvious, but Schlatt clearly doesn’t care about how nice it looks. No matter what happens, they’ll rebuild. And maybe that’s what’s so aggravating, the fact that he just _doesn’t give up._ He’ll sit there, stubborn as a rock until you say something that’ll persuade him away- usually money, or assets of some kind. 

“George?” he waits for eye contact to continue. “This place could be blown into absolutely nothing, and he’d still fucking rebuild. There’s nothing he won’t stop at, trust me, I’ve tried nearly everything.”

“Nearly everything? What else could possibly be left?”

“Well.. _this,”_ he keeps going before George can interrupt to say something about his life, and value or whatever. “I figured if I got myself put on death row, the people would finally be a bit hesitant about his decisions. I would be able to escape, and talk to a few people -try to show them what a power-hungry monster Schlatt really is. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked with Ponk and Fundy; all they care about is power.”

“But if you had gotten to everyone else…”

“Exactly. If I had gotten everyone else, it would’ve been _something._ But then...”

George looks guilty at that, “But then I tried to get you out, and got caught..”

There’s nothing Dream wants more than to kiss the sad look on his best friend’s face. All this time, he’d been scared; the possibility of losing George as a friend was just too much to risk gaining him as something more. He might as well shoot his shot now, seeing as it’s the last bullet he’ll ever have, right?

He realizes George is staring at him with shock, is face redder than it’s ever been before. His eyes seem to be stuck on Dream’s, and it’s all he can do to not look away. Dark brown eyes that seem to reflect a spark of hopefulness and fear, all the same, as if there’s still an inkling of happiness in the world it now views. A smile that curls like it’s the owner isn’t about to die soon, holding all the words he’s never said aloud, and somehow still managed to do. 

Dream suddenly realizes that he wants to write. He wants to imprint the description of the last thing he’ll ever see; if only there were a book and quill around.

It’s not until he feels a hand on his cheek that Dream finally speaks, subconsciously leaning forward as he does so, “Is this- can I-”

Suddenly, his face is being pulled forward. Gentle lips find their way against him his own, soft and sweet, holding every musical thought the world has ever known. They move quick, like they’re afraid of using up any time they have left. Dream moves to run his fingers through the other’s hair, and before he knows it, George’s arms are draped around his neck, pulling him closer. 

It’s perfect. It’s so perfect, Dream wishes he’d done this years ago, long before any kind of end was in sight. He wishes he could sit here and kiss George forever, savoring the welcoming sugarcane taste until the end. 

But like everything L’manburg has seen, the end comes much too soon.

“Alright! Let’s get on with the show everyone!” Schlatt yells again, the telltale sound of a button clicking to add to the nerve wracking feeling in the air.

They would’ve spent their last moments like that, holding each other in the grass, right in front of the memorial for every other fallen member- but George breaks the kiss. He leans his head back, and opens his eyes, choosing to stare into Dream’s one last time. 

“Dream, I love you so fucking much.” 

  
  


It’s the first time George has ever said it.

  
  
  
  


With the explosion, it’s the first and last time Dream won’t get to say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> (:
> 
> ive never written for this specific fandom before, and the anxiousness is having a field day


End file.
